Postapocalyptia
by Westcoast Barrel
Summary: A young, determined girl thrust into the harsh wasteland. A cold, tired woman born and raised in the hellish world, and a bitter fate between them. What could go wrong? Many things. Rated M for copious amounts of swearing, and probably eventual smut.
1. Chapter 1: Hell of a Meeting

Fair warning, this story will eventually involve a lesbian relationship. I request that you don't read any further if you don't like that fact.

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><p>The Capital Wasteland. A place where Raiders mutilated dogs and the term 'godforsaken' could be used to describe the entire state and then some. An impressively sized ball of trash dusts aimlessly over an expanse of shit-stained nowhere, and somewhere, amongst the ruin, a woman digs through a pile of God-knows-what, grumbling loudly about the shitty state of the place, her eyes watering from the general smell of death surrounding her.<p>

With a terse sigh she climbed out of the house, pants stained with what was probably human ashes mixed with the dust of ancient furniture. She didn't bother dusting herself off as she dropped back against the ruined car on the street. She grabbed her newly-found combat helmet, letting raven hair fall where it would. She almost thought this particular area would be a veritable goldmine when it came to loot. There was a Vault nearby, she knew, and a lot of people were wary of them, if they hadn't learned to hate them beforehand. But then... she supposed that Megaton wasn't but a mile up a dirt path from here, so just about anyone in search of it would pass through and grab what they could for a few caps to live off of. In any case, that taught her just how rewarding it was to get her hopes up, like some naïve little kid.

Somewhat defeated now, she put her helmet back on, stretching her legs before continuing on down the road. There were still a couple of houses she had left to check, plus that mailbox at the end of the street. People stashed a lot of valuable things in mailboxes when they though nobody would come looking. Those people usually had brains warped from years of using Jet or shooting Med-X as well, so anything they had stashed was usually of value to the right person.

She spent the next few minutes combing through the last two houses and their mailboxes, finding nothing more than a magazine about hand-to-hand combat, which she could sell at a decent price if Moira was feeling generous and not batshit-crazy. She also managed to find a few bottles of alcohol - which she would be happy to pursue later - and a pack of bobby pins. But once she reached that last mailbox, it was like baby Jesus had descended from the heavens. A handful of frag grenades and Jet for days, it almost paid for the wasted trip down here. Almost.

So, with a decent amount of loot in tow, she decided to waste some time looking around the mostly destroyed settlement, trying to imagine how it looked before the nukes came. Probably like what you see on the billboards and in the magazines; nice, white houses, picket fences, a Mr. Handy walking a tiny dog... It didn't seem like it could've ever been real, looking at the state of things now. Now, the white houses were black and brown, charred and filthy. If any were left standing, the fences were all but destroyed, and the Mr. Handys... well, she didn't see any tiny dogs that needed walking these days.

Then, she turned to the Vault behind her.

Vault 101, she remembered. The signs had this place written up as a sanctuary, a place to escape the horrors of the real world and continue living traditionally. People she had met - erm... _ghouls_ she had met - who were alive at the time of the Great War told her stories about the Vaults. How, if you didn't have the money, you weren't allowed in, and after the doors were shut just before the nukes came, they ignored the cries of the citizens who couldn't make it on time, and likely just watched as they slowly died, either from starvation or radiation, refusing to open up the doors even once. Yeah, it sure sounded like the noble cause the signs made it out to be. Vacantly, she wondered if anyone was still alive inside of that big, metal box, if they actually continued living when things went to shit. Wouldn't that be something?

Ah, well. No point in wasting time on it anymore.

As she turned, aiming for Megaton to sell her accumulated finds, she noticed something rather... odd. Footprints. Now, this area still mostly had its original asphalt laid down, but a lot of it was stripped away, leaving only the dirt underneath. Dirt that got a clean slate every time the wind picked up.. dirt that, she noticed, had two sets of prints in it, one coming up to where she currently stood, and one leading away. Sure, it could have been another like-minded wasteland scavenger, but all visibly valuable things on the street were left behind for her to find. Not even a junkie was lazy enough to just glean over everything. Eyebrows furrowing almost audibly, she tried to piece it together.

A gunshot went off.

Pulled from her thoughts, the woman snapped to attention, head lowering instinctively as her right hand flew to the .357 on her hip, blue eyes searching for the source of the noise. Nothing but silence followed the initial shot, and there was no one in sight. A small scowl now on her face, she began moving forward, trying not to make too much noise - as best she could with her clunky-ass combat boots. She should really reconsider her wardrobe choices for moments such as this. Another shot ripped through the air, and this time she could better tell where it came from. She weighed her options. She could let it all be and go back to Megaton, sell her loot, and maybe spend half her newly-acquired caps on a night with the lovely Nova, since none of it pertained to her anyway.. or, she could go investigate it.

The latter was a really, _really_ bad idea, considering the fact that she only had her pistol on her, and there was a 50% chance that it was just some local Raiders killing someone for fun. Still.. she had this feeling, this _nagging_ feeling that she should go check it out. She didn't know why - she had never been much of a do-gooder, so this definitely wasn't worry that there was a damsel in distress that needed saving, so if she died in her pursuit, she never would know why she felt this, but more often than not, she found that it paid off to follow her gut, even if her head kept telling her it was a bad idea. She didn't know. Maybe she was looking for a fight, something to get her blood rushing and her heart pumping. With a bit of a sigh, she splintered from the path back to Megaton, heading down toward the Elementary School instead.

Eventually, she found herself standing in front of the large, mostly-destroyed schoolhouse. With no other shots to follow and no groups or, at least, _bodies_ found, she took it out on faith. Most everyone knew that the more intact buildings were usually inhabited by raiders, most especially the multistory ones. Confronting a building full of armed psychopaths probably wasn't the smartest thing she'd ever decided to do, but alas, she wouldn't feel right leaving it alone now.

Pulling her pistol from its holster, she pressed an ear to the door, careful not to scrape off too much of the blood, dirt and vomit mixture that painted it. She heard some yelling, though not in the immediately vicinity - probably deeper in. With one last mental reprimanding of herself for this stupid-ass idea, she shouldered the door, careful to keep her balance as she entered the room. And, lucky her, already the place was disgusting. A large cage sat a couple feet from the door, filled with what appeared to be trash and entrails, and maybe some bones? It was hard to tell with the poor lighting, but one thing was true to tradition: the place smelled like two ghouls fucked, then ate a meal of live grenades. Probably due to the multiple bodies hanging from the ceiling and walls. Typical raider décor.

Face scrunching up a little by itself, she moved down the right wall, passing around a corner, into a darker hallway. She heard noise to her right, and held her pistol up to meet whatever threat there was. She leaned against the dirty wall, sliding along until she reached a mostly destroyed door. Gun held steady, she peered in, careful to avoid detection. A visibly dirty raider stood with his back turned, apparently very invested in whatever he was doing. If he was a guard of some sort, he was doing a real bang-up job. She sucked in and held a breath, angling her body. She raised her revolver and aimed, carefully. _Click._

The shot echoed through what felt like the entire floor, but it didn't hit her mark - no, he managed to move right before the shot could be delivered, allowing it to embed into the opposite wall.

"_What the fuck_? Who's there?!" a raspy voice called out, the sound of a gun cocking audible through it. She slid back behind the wall a second too late, and he spotted her. Gunshots echoed throughout the area, and she could feel the bullets hit the wall behind her. She just stayed behind cover. She didn't feel like getting shot in the face today.

"_Shit_..." A couple of clicks sounded, and the shots stopped for a moment. There was her window.

She turned from her cover, and aimed. One shot, two shots, three, and a thud followed a watery groan. A small, satisfied grin spread her lips. She stepped forward and pushed at the door, almost jumping when it broke right off the old hinges and hit the floor. She leaned down to search the corpse, but something stripped away her feeling of victory.

"_What the hell is going on_?" traveled from somewhere close to her ears. Shit.

In a hurry, she finished searching the corpse, and looked around the rest of the room. Piles of shit everywhere. A dead molerat on the table. These Raiders were some fucked-up people. She peeked out of the room, looking down the hallway before continuing on. If her previous victim's associates were looking for her now, a fight was surely inevitable; might as well prepare. She pushed herself up against the side of a locker, reloading. The sound was louder than she would've liked, but what can you do?

Two men rounded the corner, one after the other. The first one fidgeted something fierce, probably hasn't had a fix in a while. But the second one seemed to be completely stable, if a bit fucked up in the face. She moved further into the wall so they couldn't see her, and she waited.

"Must've been hearing things," the fidgeter muttered, uncertainty in his voice.

"Nah. Probably came from upstairs. Sound like they're doing some crazy shit to that kid up there, probably had to put 'er back into line."

"Probably.. whatever, you want to keep looking? Dice is already covering the door, if anyone got in, they're gutted by now."

What a foolish thought. She leaned slightly over the side of the locker, holding her gun up. She was grateful they were stupid enough to distract themselves for her. She aimed. Sucked in a breath, and shot. _Pop. Pop pop pop._ One body fell - the fidgeter- and the other doubled over, blood beginning to soak through his shirt. She put her gun away, reaching for her switchblade. She had only just begun to step forward when the man regained his wits, bringing a 12-gauge shotgun with it.

The shot rang loud through her ears.

She slammed back against the locker just barely in time. The buckshot splattered across the wall opposite her, kicking up even more dust and smoke into the air.

"Come out, you little bitch. I'll fuckin' blow your face off." ... Not very much incentive to follow orders.

He began moving forward, steps heavy and audibly staggering. Too late to try and shoot anymore. Thinking on her toes, she held her switchblade up roughly the height of a neck. Spouting off some more vile things, namely what he would do to her corpse, he continued hobbling. One step, two.. and he was in sight. Trying to think fast, she lunged, free hand knocking the barrel away from her body. A shot went off, and her thin blade sliced into his windpipe with some small amount of effort. He slid off the blade, body thumping onto the floor as he choked on his own blood. And then she felt something sharp in her leg. A pain, it seemed.

She slowly came down from the adrenaline rush, and the full force of whatever happened hit her like a VertiBird. She braced herself against the locker as she twisted, trying to see just what the hell was going on, a steady stream of ows, fucking hells and motherfuckers spewing from her mouth. A neat line of crimson blood flowed down her boot, and it registered. A goddamned ricochet. She didn't count on that happening - obviously she should have.

With a sharp exhale she slid down onto the floor, feeling for anything useful on her person. A Med-X syringe in her pocket was all it took to make her a happy woman. She stuck the needle in her arm, pushed the plunger, and waited for the relief.

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><p>She sighed as she finished wrapping the piece of fabric around her calf. She'd have to see Doc Church when she got back, and she was absolutely not looking forward to facing that old man. He'd looked out for her from the time she first arrived in that godforsaken crater when she was twelve, and always told her that if she didn't change her ways, she was gonna get shot some day. The man was rarely wrong. She spent the next few minutes searching the lockers in the room. There was nobody that she saw coming after her, why not kill a little time?<p>

200-year-old Nuka Cola and enough caps to net her a few bottles of whiskey was all she managed to find of worth. She nabbed a toy car as a gift for that kid Billy takes care of, but that alone was hardly worth a single cap. The hallway picked clean, she decided against the logic of her mind to leave, and continued on through the school. She poked her head into each room she passed, never finding anything really worth hauling. She kept on, however, using the walls as a brace until she opened that back hallway door.

A bullet whizzed by her head, embedding in the wall not but a foot away.

_Goddammit.. again_?! She dropped back behind a turned over lunch table for cover, a rain of bullets going through the room. The dust and smoke kicked up made her cough, and ultimately made her unable to see more than a foot in front of her. Lady Luck really is a fickle mistress.

The bullets flew just past her helmet, and just beneath it, vibrating the table she leaned against. One hit her helmet, bounced off, followed shortly by another. She slumped down a little further, heart picking up dramatically. It was too dark to see her assailants, it was no use trying to shoot them; she'd just be wasting bullets. As they shot, she felt around her person once again... and when she heard that familiar click of an empty cylinder, she found it. The solution to all her problems right now. The Holy Grail: a frag grenade. The temporary break in shooting allowed some of the smoke to clear, and she was grateful. Wasting no time, she pulled the grenade's pin, looked, and chucked it, falling onto her side and plugging her ears.

The explosion shook the building down to its foundations. Small chunks of concrete accompanied by dust fell from the ceiling. Decades of dust and dirt were knocked loose. The blowback from the blow almost wasn't worth it. _Almost_. She coughed up some of the dust that landed in her mouth, leaning up. Peering over the table, a smug grin made its way onto her face. Blood was sprayed across the ceiling, walls and floor, large chunks of dismembered limbs visible alongside the two - or maybe three, corpses. She almost pitied the poor bastards that would discover them.

Taking in a much-needed deep breath, she got back onto her feet. She didn't bother to dust herself off, and continued on past the destroyed bodies without stopping to loot them. She may be greedy as hell, but she wasn't willing to wade through all that gore, when all she would surely find is a small amount of illegal medication and a handful of caps. No, even she wasn't that desperate. Limping through the pools of blood into the turn of the corridor, she spotted the beginning of a staircase not far ahead. _Goodie_, a second floor. Rolling her neck, she took the walking time to reload her pistol.

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><p>The yells and screaming had stopped for a while. One would think that a first-floor explosion would take priority over whatever the degenerates came up with to entertain themselves. Evidently not, as they started up again, obnoxious as ever once she finally climbed to the top of the stairs and shouldered through the door. They were much clearer now. There were many apparent male voices amongst the rabble, but there was also something much different in the mix. Something more.. oh.. civilized? Human? It sounded almost like pleading when she stopped and thought about it. Did they have a hostage?<p>

With some effort she made it through the entryway of the second floor. Pain was still shooting up her leg with every step, and that wasn't very good. The first room she went through was clear. The voices and yells got louder and louder with each step, so it was only a matter of time before she got herself into deep shit _again_. Whatever she ended up finding better be damn well worth it.

She passed through the middle door, eyes almost instantly beginning to water as she did. Holy _shit_ did it smell bad. Her first immediate assumption was that this was the community shitter. It definitely made sense. The voices were louder in here, though, and she could swear she saw movement just ahead.

'_This must be it_,' she thought. She grabbed at her pistol and pulled the hammer back, proceeding carefully. There was cheering. A lot of cheering. A lot of very _loud _cheering. She almost dreaded to think of what she would find through here. And as she advanced, things became visibly more and more fucked up.

They hadn't seen her yet - a small grace - but she certainly saw them. At least four Raiders, both men and women, were gathered around a person tied up on the floor. They were taking turns in kicking the person, punching the person... generally abusing whoever this poor soul was. Each blow drew out a longer cry from the captive, and just the sound of it made her feel like a piece of shit for just watching. So, she did something about it.

Leaning up against the wall, she held up her gun once again. Barrel aimed at the current abuser, she tried to steadily breath in.

_Pop._

Blood splattered somewhat dramatically as the bullet flew into the vicinity of the man's neck. The cheering stopped almost immediately, the man's struggling gargles the only thing filling the room. Well.. that, and some rather pathetic crying on their captive's part. It was when every soul in the room was alerted to her presence that she realized just what she had done. Guns raised. Profanities flowed freely throughout the air. And at least three people were charging like a bull toward the partially crippled woman. Fuck. Bad move, bad move.

She tried to run for cover. Someone jumped on her before she could. Painfully, she fell sideways into the wall, a _pop_ sounding from her shoulder. Ow. Fuck, ow. Barbarians. She squirmed terribly, her assailant unable to get much of a grasp on her as she fought to bring her gun up, but he finally managed to grip her neck.

_BOOM._

The shot rang louder than ever in her ears. Face and clothing painted with blood, the raider fell to the ground, along with the remnants of his head. She groaned; even the blood smelled vile. Shots hit the wall beside her, however, and she was pulled back into action. Shoulder terribly sore, her aim would be very affected. She fell against a bookcase, blood running cold as it momentarily swayed. She lifted her gun up again, barely turning to look around the corner as she began haphazardly shooting. Most of the bullets hit the building, one or two at least clipping a raider.

_Click. Click. Clickclickclick. Shit._

Her back hit the bookcase, and she struggled to find any bullets in her pocket. Her heart was beating loud in her ears, and she almost worried she was about to have a coronary. Then her hand hit something cold and metal, a momentary feeling of relief spreading through her. She reloaded with somewhat shaking hands, resuming her haphazard shooting once that of her enemy's stopped. Two thuds followed the shots in close succession, which then warranted yet another.. _click. Click._ This gun was a piece of shit. She felt around for some more bullets, breath hitching when she felt nothing. Not one bullet in any of her pockets. Air leaving her lungs almost faster than she could replace it, she tried to think of a Plan B. Her brain went through all the possibilities, before it hit her quite blatantly.

She dropped down next to the corpse she had created just minutes previous, grabbing the pistol from his hip. She cocked it, and quickly got back to her place behind the shelf.

"You little bitch. I'll gut you like a pig!" one particularly venomous Raider shouted, footsteps nearing her. Oh, shit.

He popped out from the other side of the shelf and shot at her, missing mostly. She returned the favor, all of her bullets fucking right off into the wall behind him. And he was **_right there_**! With the all-too-familiar _clickclick_ of the gun, she groaned, tossing it aside in favor of the knife in her pocket. He had followed suit, his little pistol landing on the floor as he raised his spiked knuckles. Mentally, she had to applaud herself for getting into this mess.

She moved closer, slashing diagonally at his torso as he swung his left fist. Four sharp points slammed against her cheek, and she could swear she felt everything breaking. With her lost momentum, he brought a knee into her abdomen. Much of the air left in her lungs was knocked out, body involuntarily doubling over. He struck again, knee colliding with her nose this time. It was only when her back hit the cold floor that she thought the man would deliver on his promise to gut her like a pig... whatever a pig was.

He jumped onto her without missing a beat, knuckles hitting her again, once, twice. She had begun to zone out, when he suddenly stopped, slowly rolling off of her with a soft _thump_. A knife stuck out of his chest, her own right hand a bit bloodied. Oh.

"I'll fucking... ugh... kill you... bitch."

A tiny, unwelcome smile stretched her facial muscles as her eyes drifted shut. Perhaps he already had.

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><p>Her ears rang. It was like a bell going off incessantly in her head, telling her to wake the fuck up. It didn't feel very good.<p>

Her eyes came next. They opened, abruptly, blinding light flooding them - well, one. She could barely see out of her right eye - despite how dark the actual room was. All her other senses slowly followed suit. All she could think was that she hurt like hell. Despite the aching in her neck, she forced herself to look around. A raider laid dead next to her, knife sticking out of his chest. Another one laid a couple feet away, head.. mostly destroyed. Gross.

With a long, drawn out groan she forced herself into a sitting position, back sore from the initial fall. Her head hurt, understandably, and it took a few moments before she remembered what she was doing in here. _The captive._ Right. Okay.

She spent the next few minutes - and it did take a few minutes - getting up onto her feet with the help of the bookshelves. Something hammered away inside her head, it felt, and for a moment after she stood, all she saw was stars. The lightheaded feeling alone nearly knocked her right back onto her ass, but thankfully subsided after a few moments. She would really get an earful from the Doc now.

Once she got her bearings, she limped her way over to the captive in the center of the room, who looked almost as bad as she felt. Blood matted up long, golden hair and stained a strange blue and yellow jumpsuit. The captive didn't seem to notice her, breath shaky, nose evidently dripping with snot. With a sympathetic frown, she worked on getting the captive's bindings off, immediately being met with resistance, the girl thrashing about almost violently, protests desperately leaking out of her mouth.

"Whoa, whoa. Calm down. Hey - stop squirming! I'm trying to help you!" It took a few moments, but the girl finally stilled. Breathing out a sigh of relief, she tried pulling the ropes off, finally pulling out her switchblade to cut through them. And with a couple of minutes and some determined sawing, she got through the rope -

The heel of a boot collided hard with her face, and she was sent back into the floor again.

"What the fuck?! What the hell is wrong with you?!" She groaned loudly into her hands, which were cupped around her nose, now doubly fucked up. The girl clambered to her feet in movements akin to a baby, running for the door behind her and crying out when it didn't budge. Didn't stop her - the girl ran a different direction now, panting loudly as she did. Goddammit..

She got up off the ground, intent on chasing after the girl as quickly as her damaged leg would let her. She shouted out a few things along the way, but the girl refused to stop. It was only when she tripped over herself that she gained a speed advantage. She caught up, and somewhat intentionally fell onto the girl, arms moving to pin her down before she could shove her off.

"I'm sorry- don't hurt me, please, I'm sorry, I won't do it again, please let me go, please." The crying resumed in the girl beneath her, and she couldn't help but feel like a piece of shit, even though she was currently faultless.

"Calm your shit, kid, I'm not gonna hurt you. Why'd you run from me? - Hey, why'd you run?"

The girl sniffled into the floor beneath her, face red and puffy from both the exertion and hours of crying;

"Thought.. I thought you were one of them. Didn't know what to do." Her voice had adopted a somewhat robotic tone, and refused to keep steady as hard breaths were involuntarily sucked in.

She sighed, looking rather helplessly around the room as she tried to think. She didn't expect to find a hostage. She didn't expect to save a hostage, and now she was left not knowing what the hell to do. She freed up one of her hands to scratch at her head, lips pursing in thought.

"Alright, kid... come on. I'll help you get cleaned up," she said, suppressing a groan as she stood back up, holding out a hand for the girl. Damn thing looked like a kicked puppy there on the ground, and it sucked. The girl managed to pull herself up, frame shaking badly though the conflict had passed. Her face really did look kinda like shit, she couldn't lie. One side of her face was badly swollen, either from the beatings or the crying, she wasn't sure which, and her lips were split and still actively bleeding. Her hair was pasted onto her forehead and parts of her jaw with dried blood, and it was all just a big mess.

She led the girl carefully out of the schoolhouse, a hot pain spreading up her leg at this point every time she moved it. They hadn't encountered any Raiders going out, and for once, she was glad not to have the conflict.

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><p>Many thanks to SurprisinglyOdd for helping me out with this. I <em>am <em>planning to make this a series, a fairly long one, so please rate, review, all that jazz.


	2. Chapter 2: Information

With a fair amount of effort and a lot of stumbling, the pair finally made it into Megaton.

"Well, I'll be damned," came the voice of Lucas Simms as he came up the hill. "Another newcomer." As he came closer, the self-proclaimed sheriff's idle enthusiasm turned into concern. "Goddamn. You two look like you just got into a fistfight with an army of Mutants. You particularly." He nodded to the girl. "Might wanna go see Doc Church, if you weren't already headed down that way."

And with a tip of his hat, he departed.

"Thank you for stating the obvious," muttered the older woman with a sigh. With some more effort, the two made it down the slope, where the clinic sat. Before they entered, she spoke again.

"A bit of fair warning: Doc Church is a little... blunt. He's not gonna be the chipper family doctor you're used to."

In response to that, the only thing the girl could do was smirk. If only she knew.

The woman finally managed to dislodge the metal door. "You better have cancer or be on death's doorstep," came the Good Doctor's voice, his nose buried in paperwork. "'Cause I ain't gonna bother with every little splinter or broken bone."

"I've missed you too, Doc," she replied, her lips quirking up into a smile as he looked up.

"Oh, goddamnit, Daniels. The hell did you manage to get yourself into now?" He stood, clearly annoyed. "Who's this?" he asked, nodding towards the girl.

"Dunno, actually. What's your name, kid?"

She fidgeted a bit, one hand pressed against her aching ribs. "Uh... Sylvia. Hitchcock," she replied, following the two into the operating room as Daniels climbed up onto the shabby bed, with a little help from the Doc.

"Alright, what kind of shitstorm are we looking at here?"

"Aside from the obvious facial carnage? A bit of lead ricocheted into this calf... last fucker that fought me had on a set of spiked knuckles, definitely some damage to this cheek. But I think that's the worst of it all." She shifted on the bed, leaning back on her hands, one arm of which was caked with dried blood. Sylvia took a seat on a cheap green armchair in the corner.

The Doc pulled out a blade and began slicing up the side of her pant leg.

"Whoa, whoa - hey! What are you doing?! Those are a good pair of pants!" She whined, mouth screwed up into a painfully dissatisfied frown.

"Boo-hoo. I don't think you'll have trouble finding more. Get on your stomach."

She obeyed with some angry grumbling, flopping audibly onto her stomach and letting out a bit of a hiss as she did. Doc Church grabbed a few things from a medical bag, briefly turning to Sylvia.

"You squeamish?" he asked.

"N-no... Not particularly, I guess."

"Good." Without another word, he dug a thin blade into Daniels' calf, drawing a groan from deep inside her throat.

"A little warning, please?!" She growled, fingers clutching tightly around the edge of the bed.

"You'll live," he replied, producing a pair of tweezers, blood flowing freely from her wound. And despite her earlier statement, Sylvia cringed, eyes averting from the scene. A few more moments passed, and not silently, thanks to the steady stream of curses through clenched teeth coming from the older woman.

"Got it." A quiet _pa-tang_ as the bit of lead bounced into a tray. The stinging came next as he poured antiseptic onto the wound, wrapping it quickly. "You're lucky; if you took any longer getting here, you'd have a damn nasty infection on your hands. Sit up."

She obeyed.

"Your face, though... That's a whole 'nother story. Judging by the lack of general shape, I'd say your cheekbone looks pretty damn broken. Ain't shit I can do to fix it. Haven't got the tools nor the know-how to set it properly, so you're just gonna have to let it heal by itself. It won't be fun." He paused, pouring some antiseptic onto a cloth; "but I've got plenty of Med-X to help it go by." He placed the cloth on her face, wiping at the cuts left by the spikes. She hissed, teeth clenching once again, along with her fists. The man's touch over the apparently broken bone was about as delicate as the jaw of a Yao Guai.

"Aside from that..." He tacked a couple bandages onto her face, pulling off another strip of bandage to wrap around her forearm. "You're pretty much fine." He secured the bandage, turning to put some of his equipment away and stopping her when she tried to climb down off the bed.

"Uh-uh. Not so fast, kid. I got the lead out, but it was still lodged in there pretty good. I don't want you running around and fucking things up, 'less you need to come back in here for the third time this month." He grabbed out a pair of rickety, taped-up crutches set up against the room divider. "You're stuck with these for at least a couple days."

"The hell, Doc? You know I can't stick these things for that long. I couldn't even stick with that ankle splint last year, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember. I also remember you blowing _out_ your ankle and being laid up for three months after getting chased by a group of pissed off Raiders. So suck it up and stay home for a while." He shooed her away from the bed, waving Sylvia up as Daniels slumped against the wall, morose and tired. Sylvia didn't have as much issue climbing up; it was her ribs that ached the worst.

"Now, what happened to you? I can see you took a nice whippin' to the face, but I need the specifics."

Sylvia sucked in a breath, unintentionally tweaking her ribs further as she tried to remember exactly what all happened.

"They kicked me, a lot. Primarily around - Christ alive," she breathed, hand pressing her ribs without thinking about it. "Ribs, definitely. I'd guess there is, or will be internal bruising, and I wouldn't be surprised if there was some fracturing or minor bleeding around the area." Doc Church raised an eyebrow, pouring out some more antiseptic, nearly down to the bottom of the bottle.

"You know much about medicine?" he asked, gearing up to press the cloth to her face.

"Not as much as my father did. He was the Vault's only doctor and surgeon, so I found it difficult not to pick up some general know-how."

"Vault, eh?" He wiped at the cuts and scrapes, traces of a smile on his face when she hissed and tensed against the sting. "That's a fortunate hand to be dealt."

"What, living in a Vault?" She chuckled, despite the discomfort it caused in her chest. "Sure, if you like growing up in a large tin can that smells like radroaches, disinfectant and the elderly."

"'Case you haven't noticed, lotta people would kill for that opportunity. Imagine it's a lot safer than growing up in a metal shack, surrounded by Raiders and mirelurks."

Sylvia frowned a bit, watching idly as he grabbed out another pre-threaded needle. He had a point, and she knew it was pretty ungrateful to argue that point. As she spaced out in thought, Doc Church pushed the needle through the flesh above her brow, continuing the motion until he had secured the entirety of the fairly small cut. He tied it off and cut the thread, dropping it down into a cup of... something that was probably sanitary.

He turned after a moment, looking her over. "Take your suit off."

Sylvia blinked, her expression visibly affronted. He rolled his eyes in response, releasing an exasperated sigh.

"Just the torso. I need to see the damage, understand?"

She nodded, plainly uncomfortable as she unzipped the top of her Vault suit, shrugging the arms and back off.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He shook his head, lifting her gray undershirt up just enough to plainly see the lower ribcage area. "Hold this up for me - good." He inspected further, hands pressing in spots, most likely to gauge the severity. A good few minutes passed before he spoke again.

"Well, the good news is that nothing's broken."

Sylvia dropped her shirt then, smoothing it out gently over her stomach. "And the bad news?"

"The bad news? Well, you've got some pretty good bruising going on there, for sure. Can't fix that either, so if you're particularly soft when it comes to pain tolerance, I can give you some meds. If you can find something cold in this hellhole of a wasteland, put it over your ribs to help with the swelling and pain. It's gonna take probably... four, six weeks to heal, maybe less, maybe more. So, if you can manage to stay out of trouble," he cast a knowing glance toward the one on crutches, "you'll be fine. Now go." He waved them both away, beginning to put his supplies away altogether.

"Uh... Doc? How much is this going to be?" Daniels asked, struggling to her feet with the help of her crutches.

"Right! I'd nearly forgotten. Hm... with the stitching, the crutches, the antiseptic and the bandaging... 750 caps would probably suffice."

"Whoa! 750?! You never charge more than 100 when I come in!"

"My supplies are nearly gone now, so if I'm going to afford any when the caravans roll through, I'm going to need some caps. I could just take all your bandages and stitches back, if you'd prefer?" He placed his kit under the counter, turning to look at the both of them expectantly.

"Ugh... Fine," Daniels grumbled, fishing around in her many pockets before coming up with a small pouch that clinked when it was moved. "Should be about 750."

With a hollow smile Doc Church took the pouch, opening it up to peer inside. "There we are. You're free to go, but just remember, if you tried to cheat me out of some caps..." He trailed off, staring pointedly at Daniels.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I learned my lesson when I was a kid, Doc. See you later."

She sighed, beckoning Sylvia with her head as she hopped on her crutches through the metal building, and out the door.

Sylvia pushed her arms back through that of her suit, shrugging it back on and zipping it up before they fully got outside.

"So... He was interesting," she muttered, a small, uncomfortable smile on her face.

Daniels looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. "He's certainly a piece of work. Just be appreciative that you weren't injured bad enough to warrant a complete strip," she chuckled, cautiously attempting to crutch down the ramp in front of the clinic.

"Right... well... where are we going from here?" She looked around the settlement, taking in the dull colours, the dirty people, the metal shacks and, most prominently, the large atom bomb resting in a crater of water. She'd have to bring that up later with someone.

"Uh... If you're getting antsy for a wash, we can go up to my place. It has a selectively functional tub."

Sylvia chuckled inwardly, thinking of how that could be used as a bad pick-up line.

"Sure, sounds good."

* * *

><p>The two made it up the many ramps to a particular shack situated somewhat precariously on a ledge after a good half-hour, one of the two particularly spent. It was Daniels, her injured leg dragging behind her, sweat flowing from just about every pore, breath ragged. Climbing steep ramps with two artificial "legs" was a lot harder than what could be assumed. She shouldered through the door, which she never bothered to lock.<p>

It wasn't... great-looking inside, Sylvia thought. Traces of rust had begun to eat away here and there at the walls and sections of the floor, and battered furniture was scattered around. While she was busy judging the place, Daniels clambered up the stairs, speaking to somebody Sylvia couldn't see when she had reached the top.

"Can you get the bath running, Wadsworth? I've got a guest," Sylvia heard, followed quickly by a somewhat metallic "Certainly, madame."

Wadsworth? He - or it - sounded a lot like Andy, the Mister Handy that, er.. "worked" with Stanley in Maintenance. How would someone get one of those out here?

The terribly loud sound of water rushing overhead pulled Sylvia from her thoughts, and she jumped. Carefully, she climbed the stairs to inspect. Her companion was nowhere to be seen at the top.

Um...

Sylvia took a hesitant step forward, straining to hear anything over the sound of the rusty pipes. She took another step forward, moving slowly across the metal floor, an unfamiliar and confusing feeling of dread starting to build up in her. She finally came upon a ramshackle door, slightly concealed by a ragged bookcase filled up with... not books. Without a knock or a thought, she turned the creaky knob and pushed it open, cheeks almost instantly reddening.

Her older companion stood in the center of the room, shirt missing, new-looking pants halfway up - or maybe halfway down, her thighs. A cigarette loosely hung from between her teeth, some of the ash falling off when her head snapped around to the door. A cautious expression quickly bled into a calm, amused one.

"Should really knock there, kid. Some people wouldn't appreciate the invasion," she chuckled, hopping a little as she pulled the jeans the rest of the way up her legs, fastening them. She flicked the cigarette off in an empty soda bottle, making no move to cover her chest. Though it was very small, everything was thinly-veiled by a black bra.

Sylvia was at a general loss for words, her brain evidently unable to make her muscles move. Instead, she tried to take control of her speech again.

"Erm, sorry, din't mean to..." She cleared her throat, unable to understand why she was slurring now. She looked away, embarrassed. She'd seen people undressed before. Amata, her best friend, Butch DeLoria once on accident, even Freddie Gomez... not so much on accident. There was no reason to be flustered now.

The woman had her eyebrows raised, a look of amusement still very much upon her face as she straightened out a shirt, glancing back at Sylvia.

"It's alright. Not that I mind the attention, but... you need something?" She rested her cigarette on a Nuka-Cola truck mounted on top of a filing cabinet, pulling the shirt over her head.

It took a minute, but brain function finally started coming back to her. "No... uh, no, not really," she blinked a little bit, trying to remember what she came up here for. "Ah, were you talking to someone up here? Earlier, I mean?" She fidgeted uncomfortably, her gaze still fully averted until the woman was once again entirely clothed.

"Wadsworth. Some fancy robotic butler that came with the house." She took up the cigarette again, taking a long puff. "He went and got the water started for ya." After blowing out that long puff, she dropped the cigarette into a coffee mug.

"Oh. Okay. Well, er, sorry for the intrusion. I'll go see if that's... done." She nodded, lingering awkwardly for a moment before scurrying off, door shutting behind her.

Daniels chuckled, rounding up her dirty clothing as Sylvia went to inquire about the water.

* * *

><p>"Hello?" Sylvia's light voice floated from upstairs.<p>

"Down here," Daniels called back, nursing a bottle of whiskey as she flipped through a magazine. When she heard footsteps, she swiftly pulled her reading glasses off, tucking them under the lime-coloured couch on which she lay. Sylvia padded down the steps, blonde hair now shining and clean. Though she was only wearing a slightly oversized shirt and torn up pants, she looked a hundred times better. She stood silently at the bottom of the steps for a moment.

"What're you reading?" She finally asked, her voice small as she kept her eyes busy with something else.

"Milsurp Review," Daniels replied, trying not to squint as she stared down at the pages.

"... Guns?"

"A-yep."

"Okay. Well..." Sylvia didn't remember being so bad at conversation. "Do you have any food?" Hate to ask, but..."

"Wait here," Daniels cut her off, holding up an index finger. She grabbed her crutches and hobbled off into the kitchen area with a speed that suggested she was just waiting for the girl to ask that question, clack-clacking on her way.

"Do you like iguana?" Came floating from the kitchen after a few moments, muffled by something or other.

Iguana? Sylvia couldn't confirm she'd ever had it.

"Never had it," she decided. Her eyes wandered the room as she ignored the clattering from the kitchen. The living area wasn't too bad, she thought, as she got a good look of it. The walls and floors were metal like the rest of the house, the furniture multicolour and visibly aged. Two lockers sat against walls opposite each other, one lined with ammo and weapons, the other miscellaneous objects. And in the centre of the back wall, a Vault-Tec looking stand sat, a few little figurines resting on it. She moved over to it, lifting one up to inspect it. It looked just like the little bobblehead her father kept on his desk in the office, albeit a bit different in what it held.

"Little help, please," Daniels called, coming out from the kitchen, arms full of foods and water bottles, two sticks of meat hanging from between her teeth. Sylvia sat the bobblehead down, moving over to take some things from her arms.

"When I asked if you had any food, I meant a box of Blamco Mac and Cheese or something, not your entire stockpile."

"Ah, it ain't all my stockpile." She dropped some things on the coffee table. "I've still got some squirrel bits somewhere." Daniels grinned as far as her muscles would allow, plopping back loudly onto her couch. Sylvia put down her acquired food, remaining upright as she rubbed her right arm.

"Siddown, kid. You're making me nervous." Daniels motioned at her obscurely, getting to work on cracking open a box of Dandy Boy Apples. Sylvia obliged, picking up and inspecting a stick of meat after a moment.

"So, what's next for you?" Daniels asked, chewing up some food. Her leg was stretched out, casually resting on the edge of the coffee table. Sylvia thought on that question for a while, munching on some foreign-tasting meat. She came out here to find her father, so she figured that was what she'd do. She swallowed her food before speaking.

"Do you know of anyone I can get information from?" She asked, popping open the lid of a water bottle.

"Mm..." Daniels thought for a second, eyes squinting slightly in the process. "Probably Moriarty. He's this asshole of an Irish fella that runs the Saloon by Craterside Supply. The only guy in town with decent whiskey, though." Daniels shrugged, taking another bite of whatever it was she had been eating, something red and shrivelled.

Irish? Sylvia chuckled, remembering an Irish family in the Vault. They ate in silence for a while, with only the occasional rattling from Wadsworth, the robotic butler.

"So, your name is... Daniels?" Sylvia asked after some time, the name foreign on her tongue.

"Last name," Daniels clarified, mouth somewhat full. "Most just call me Snow."

Sylvia's eyebrows furrowed.

"Snow? Is... is snow a thing out here?" she asked, eyes hopeful. 'Snow' chuckled, shaking her head.

"No. 'Least not anymore, in my lifetime. But it's said to be really cold, so anyone who knows about snow knows exactly what to expect with me." Sylvia couldn't help but frown a little bit. Not for the fact that the woman hadn't been cold to her in the slightest so far, but because she had always wanted to see real snow. Snow that wasn't generated on a projector.

They eventually ate and drank their fill, and Snow looked about ready to fall asleep, head reclined back, bottle of whiskey loosely laced between her fingers.

"When should I go meet Moriarty, do you think?" Sylvia herself, was nursing a little bottle of purified water, not trusting herself to try whiskey. Her dad always told her it would burn her throat like fire. Her posture was much different from Snow's, back straight, one knee crossed over the other, but she didn't really notice much.

Snow groaned, taking another drink.

"We can go today."

"You don't have to come with me."

Snow raised her head up, eyes scrutinizing as they looked Sylvia over.

"Yeah, I do. He'd eat you alive." She chuckled, taking yet another drink. Sylvia frowned again, looking down at herself. She had no idea what it was that her older companion saw to determine that.

Another minute or two of silence passed and Sylvia had began to wonder if Snow had fallen asleep. Then she stirred.

"Alright, enough dilly-dallying, I guess. Get your shoes on, kid," she said, pulling on and strapping her own boots with some effort and cringing. Sylvia obeyed, going up to fetch them. When she returned, Snow was waiting for her by the door, biting absently at her fingernails.

"You ready?" Snow asked, when she finally noticed Sylvia. She nodded, and the two went on their way. Right after they dislodged the front door.

* * *

><p>"Moriarty! Mori, man, hey!" Snow greeted when, finally, they reached the Saloon. A grey-haired man leaning up against the ledge barely turned from the railing to look at her.<p>

"Got a new friend again, did you?" He asked, turning to look back over Megaton. "Does this one need a job too, then?"

"No, no. This is Sylvia - Sylvia, right?" Sylvia nodded. "Sylvia. From the Vault. Maybe you heard. Kid?" Snow crutched slowly out of the way, nodding for Sylvia to move forward and approach. Sylvia cut to the chase.

"Have you seen my father?" She asked. "Tall, greyish-brown hair, might've been wearing a lab coat. He has the voice of someone who could talk a manic depressive into being happy?" Sylvia made the hand gestured to match her sentences, but Snow couldn't help but think that was a strange thing to compare her dad's voice to. Moriarty turned more fully this time, eyes slightly squinted as he looked the girl over.

"Well, I'll be damned. You're James' little baby." His eyes were wide now, an almost manipulative smirk on his face. "Aye, I've seen your dad. You just missed him actually."

That was a lie, and Snow hoped they all knew it.

"Well... can you tell me where he is, or where he's going?" Sylvia asked, naive hope badly-veiled on her features.

"Sure I can, girly. For a price." He was grinning now, but he still managed to look oh-so-casual.

"... How much?"

"100 caps. Friends and family discount."

"Are you kidding me?" Snow asked, visibly frustrated.

"Hey kid, information 'round here is part and parcel. Can't just give it to ya free."

"Yeah, well, screw that. I'm not paying, so you can forget we had this conversation." Snow whipped around as dramatically as she could manage, crutches creaking loudly in protest as they nearly fell apart just from the movement.

"Wait, what?" Sylvia was dumbfounded, concern and confusion on her face as she moved to follow her older companion. Moriarty shrugged, muttering something and turning back over the railing.

"Why aren't you paying him?" Sylvia asked, voice tight as she walked alongside the woman.

"Because I've got a better idea. Once that doesn't cost me my hard-earned caps."

The two made it off the platform, and around the back of the Saloon, to the back door.

"Keep watch." The question was more of a command, and Sylvia obeyed. Snow set her crutches against the metal wall, grabbing something from her pocket and crouching, despite the pain it caused. Sylvia wasn't sure what was going on at first, but it soon became plain. She didn't like it, but she figured it was worth it to see what she had planned.

_Click._

"Hurry up, it's open." And with that, the two scrambled into the back of the Saloon.

"Be quiet," Snow whispered, setting her crutches down a second time as she sat at the wall-mounted terminal. Sylvia could hear people talking and laughing not eight feet away, through a door. Snow powered the terminal on, groaning as the screen filled up with obscure numbers and letter sequences, a very familiar sight for Sylvia.

"You any good with technology, kid?"

A wave of pride swelled up in her chest as her mind confirmed that, but at the same time she was frowning. It wouldn't feel right breaking into someone else's things just for some information. But... she really needed to know. So she nodded, taking the woman's seat.

"Okay... Give me a second," she whispered, beginning to hammer away at the keyboard. Moments later, a satisfactory ding rang out through the speakers.

"Got it. What am I looking for?"

"Any information on your dad. You know his name, 'less he used an alias here."

"Right..." That'd be just her luck. She began clicking away once again, and it was a good minute before she waded through the files into something valuable.

"I think this might be something," she announced, and Snow looked over her shoulder. Sylvia pulled up the entry under 'Visitors' - 'James (Vault 101)'.

"James, huh?" Snow questioned, honestly wondering how a name like 'Sylvia' came from a guy named 'James'. She shook her head, reading the entry with the girl.

**So, out of nowhere, James came back to Megaton. Since he stayed here before he asked me where the hell he could get a lay of the land and find out what's going on in the world. I told him about Galaxy News Radio in the ruins of D.C, and that guy Three Dog. Then like that, he was gone again.**

**I remember the first time he showed up almost twenty years ago. I never expected someone to actually want to or be able to get INTO a vault, but he must have had his reasons. He had his kid with him, some baby that wouldn't shut the fuck up. Normally I would have kicked someone like that out of my place, but he had a way with words. Then, like that, he ducks into Vault 101 and he's gone for almost twenty years. Nice guy, I guess, but never spends enough caps.**

Sylvia clicked the terminal off, looking... somewhat upset. Snow couldn't quite understand why.

"Did you get what you needed?" Snow asked, her voice hushed and tentative upon seeing the girl's face.

"He lied to me," Sylvia said, completely ignoring the question.

"What?"

"He lied to me. For nineteen years. He said I was born in the Vault, that he... that he was born in the..." She trailed off, sniffling quietly. Her head turned away, but it was fairly obvious to Snow that she was crying. Damnit.

"I... uh... I'm sure he had his reasons, kid."

"That doesn't matter! That entire time I was living a lie. Next I'll find out that my mother was a junkie or something..."

Snow cringed at the loudness of the girl's words, sure that someone heard them. She shifted on her crutches and tried ushering the girl out, speaking quietly as she did.

"I'm sure that's not true."

"And- how the hell would you know? You don't know him! Hell, I guess I don't even know him."

Snow hissed a bit at that point, completely on edge.

"You said he was a doctor, right? I don't think a doctor would fuck a junkie, much less allow it to have his child." Well... actually... that seemed like the type of thing that Doc Church would do, now that she thought about it. Probably best not to share that thought with the good doctor.

Sylvia grumbled something inaudible but almost certainly hateful, shrugging the woman off as she climbed off the seat and just about stormed through the door. Jesus _Christ_. Snow followed close behind and they both made it out the door just before some ghoulish looking creature came through the other one, well on their way back to Snow's shack.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Yeah, yeah. Took me almost a month, still less than 5k words... crazy, right? Anyway, thanks once again to SurprisinglyOdd for her help and assistance. Without her help, you'd only be seeing a chapter every six months. Rate, review, etc.


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